


cooking 4 luv

by leeminhyoongi



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Cooking, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, other members are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeminhyoongi/pseuds/leeminhyoongi
Summary: Jihoon's on a mission to save the earth and his neighbor, Park Woojin.





	cooking 4 luv

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively, Jihoon is an aspiring chef who cooks for his next door neighbor, Park Woojin who's actually been living off of instant ramen.
> 
> Happy birthday to the love of my life, Park Woojin!
> 
> Big thanks to [Rea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm) for beta-ing!

Ever since he was about seven years old, Jihoon had only wanted two things in life: to live in a big house he’d saved up for with his mother, and to live in that big house with his mother, cooking all kinds of food for the people he loves.

 

He’s eighteen now, eleven years have passed. Nothing much has changed with what Jihoon wants in life.

He still wants to live in a big house he’d saved up for. He still wants to cook all kinds of food for the people he loves.

 

Except this time, he just has to do it without his mother.

 

Jihoon’s mother died two years ago, when he was sixteen – old enough to get a job as a waiter in the small restaurant a couple of blocks away, but not old enough to graduate high school, enter culinary school, and be the chef he’s always aspired to be.

If he was, then he would probably have gotten the gears on his dreams going already.

But he wasn’t, so here he was.

It all happened so quickly. Jihoon had been racing home with a brown envelope clutched tightly in his right hand – his first paycheck. It didn’t amount to much, really, but it was his very first salary, the first ever money he’d earned all by himself. He’d been contemplating on whether to deposit it into his and his mom’s joint bank account for future use or use it to take his mother out on a fancy dinner and a small shopping spree tonight instead. God knows how much his mom needed a break, and Jihoon was thinking the same thing.

Too bad God’s and Jihoon’s ideas for a break were _different_.

 

An aneurysm, specifically, aortic, the doctor had told him. A rupture in his mother’s largest artery, severe internal bleeding, rapid death. Jihoon merely stared back at the doctor, unable to comprehend anything he was being told.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor had simply added since there was really nothing more to say, nothing more to do.  Jihoon accepted the concern, the warmth – who knows when he’d be feeling it next.

Jihoon nodded, muttered his thanks, and laughed bitterly at the brown envelope still held in his right hand.

He ended up using it to pay for hospital and funeral bills instead.

  
  


Jihoon moves closer to the small restaurant he still works at – to keep his loneliness at bay, and to assure the old couple who owns the establishment that he’s fine and getting by. The old man cooks almost as well as his mom did, and the old woman has the same smile. Jihoon can’t bear to live in the same house as they do every day, so he settles for an apartment nearby. It’s a win-win situation, he convinces them.

 

It’s a Sunday, the busiest day of the week. The staff could normally handle the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood, but tonight is different as the chef had called in sick after his lunch break – Jihoon had warned him that his food was spoiled, and he wondered why the cook opted to eat it anyway, wasn’t he supposed to be aware of things like these?

As Jihoon rings a family’s order, he overhears the old woman impatiently ask her husband to man the kitchen. The old man anxiously agrees, grabbing an apron from the nearby cabinet, but also worries about how he’ll be able to cook all these food by himself, seeing as he’s old and hasn’t been cooking professionally in a long time.

Jihoon has never admitted his childhood dream to anyone else but his mom, not even to the chef even though he keeps giving Jihoon quizzical looks whenever the younger asks him about different ways to cut or various kinds of herbs. He doesn’t cook outside the four walls of his apartment and has never let anyone but his mom and himself taste his creations, not when he’s still inexperienced and saving up for culinary school so he can receive formal training. He scans the entire restaurant, estimates tonight’s headcount, and takes a deep breath before marching to the old couple.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” he begins, he’s fiddling with his hands – something he does when he’s nervous or excited, or both. Like he is now. “I haven’t told anybody else this before, but I can actually cook. A l-little. I m-mean, I have been able to since I was seven. I was thinking m-maybe I could help out in the kitchen today?”

The creases in the couple’s foreheads disappear immediately, and Jihoon is suddenly sandwiched in between the two of them.

“Ah Jihoon-ah, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Mrs. Kim asks in between the kisses she’s planting on Jihoon’s cheeks.

Mr. Kim throws Jihoon another fresh apron from the closet. Jihoon catches it perfectly. They both grin. “Time for us to get to work, my boy.”

 

Jihoon has always loved the kitchen, has always loved cooking. Which is why despite the buzz, the heat, and the pressure coming from all corners of the entire restaurant, he still finds himself smiling and swelling with pride every time he taste tests a dish or completes an order.

“You’re good,” Mr. Kim tells him as they each take a spoonful of Jihoon’s _galbi-jjim_ – a big pot for the last customers, a family spending a member’s birthday. He swipes at the edges of the plates after Jihoon scoops the stew over the cups of rice. “You should work in the kitchen from now on.”

Jihoon’s grin widens while the tips of his ears turn pink. “I would love that, sir, thank you.”

 

They end the night exhausted but pleased, and Jihoon finds himself sandwiched by the old couple for a second time that evening, right before he leaves for his apartment. Mrs. Kim is pecking at his cheeks again, that Mr. Kim has to hold her back to be able to hand Jihoon a big brown paper bag.

“Leftovers,” Mr. Kim admits. “I couldn’t bear to give the most delicious _galbi-jjim_ I’ve ever tasted away and not let the star of the night have his fill.”

Jihoon chuckles shyly. “It’s alright, Mr. Kim, you should bring it home.”

Mrs. Kim raises an identical bag, and claims, “We already have our own!”

“Alright,” Jihoon surrenders, laughing. He accepts the paper bag with two hands and bows slightly to the couple. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim.”

They all bid their goodbyes, and Jihoon can feel the couple’s eyes on his back as they watch him until he disappears around the corner. Jihoon’s chest feels warm. He thinks it’s the stew, but wonders if it’s also the nostalgic feeling of having a family.

  
  


Jihoon rushes inside his apartment as he spots the garbage collector walking toward the direction of his building. He carefully lays the bag of leftover _galbi-jjim_ on the kitchen counter before hurriedly stuffing his trash into a plastic bag. On his way out, he picks his neighbor’s garbage bag from where it had been left by the door – something he’s been doing out of kindness and habit ever since he’s moved in (because he rarely sees his neighbor, doesn’t even recall ever meeting him). He hums as he finds the plastic bag untied, and frowns when he notices it’s mostly full of instant ramen packets and convenience store food wrappers. When he’s thrown the trash out and washed his hands, Jihoon has decided to whom to give tonight’s leftovers to.

 _It’s too much for one anyway_ , he thinks.

 

Jihoon eyes the clock hanging on the wall across his kitchen and quietly yelps when he sees it’s almost midnight. He doesn’t know if his neighbor is nocturnal, let alone at home, so he quickly prepares everything he needs for the meal. Jihoon says a silent prayer of gratitude when he opens his refrigerator to find leftover rice and freshly made kimchi from his breakfast this morning. He feels the bottom of the paper bag, and when he learns it’s still warm to touch, transfers the _galbi-jjim_ into an old Tupperware (just in case his neighbor isn’t the type to return stuff). He pops the rice into the microwave, and puts it in another old plastic container afterwards. He packs all of these, and utensils – another old set because Jihoon’s on a mission to save the Earth and his neighbor has been doing a pretty bad job at that – into a bag, and heads outside.

Jihoon plays with his hair, the hem of his shirt, and the strings of the bag before taking a deep breath and ringing his neighbor’s doorbell. His cheeks have already gotten warm and his ears have now grown pink. He feels a little embarrassed that he’s only going to meet his neighbor for the first time tonight even if they’ve both been here for a while, but he also hopes that his neighbor is home so that all the food (and effort) won’t end up going to waste.

It’s been a couple of minutes, and Jihoon’s not the type to ring the doorbell twice, so he’s about to go back into his own apartment when he hears sounds coming from the other side of the door. It opens slowly and warily that it makes Jihoon even more nervous than he already is.

“Hi.”

Jihoon feels his breath leave him all at once as he finally comes face to face with his neighbor. He’s only a little taller than Jihoon is, and looks about the same age. He’s got brown hair that curls a bit at the tips and tan skin that beautifully catches the moonlight. Jihoon doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he swears that the eyes staring back at him now are the most captivating he’s ever seen.

“Uh, hi,” his neighbor replies, and Jihoon feels his knees slightly wobble at the deep rumble of his neighbor’s voice. “What’s up?”

His neighbor’s eyebrows are furrowed, and Jihoon can’t blame him, especially since it’s the middle of the night which is a pretty awkward time to be meeting strangers – on _casual_ occasions, at least. “I’m Park Jihoon,” he says as he wipes his free hand on the side of his jeans and offers it to his neighbor. “I live next door, right there,” he continues as he cocks his head towards his apartment.

His neighbor opens the door a little wider, accepts his hand, and shakes it twice. Jihoon’s surprised at how warm his neighbor’s hand is. “Park Woojin.”

Jihoon nods and repeats the name in his head a couple of times. “Yeah I, uh, take out your trash for you,” Jihoon admits, and he immediately wants to take it back after he realizes how foolish it sounds. It makes Woojin chuckle, though, and Jihoon thinks that saying it a hundred times over will always be worth it if he gets the sound of Woojin’s laughter right after.

“Thanks, but they used to come up to get it themselves, you know,” Woojin tells him as he leans against the doorframe.

“They probably got tired,” Jihoon shrugs. “Or lazy.”

“Or you’re spoiling them.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow to which Woojin just chuckles at. “Anyway,” Jihoon interrupts. He takes one last look inside the bag to make sure the containers didn’t move so much while he was busy talking to (and ogling at) his neighbor, Park Woojin, before handing it over to the boy in question. “I, uh, brought you dinner.”

Woojin’s eyes evidently widen in surprise. He shakes his hands and steps back into his apartment. “I already had dinner, so thanks, but no thanks.”

Jihoon frowns but pushes the bag into Woojin’s grasp anyway. “What? Instant ramen?”

Woojin stops flailing his arms in an attempt to avoid Jihoon’s own and crosses them over his chest. “ _7Eleven’s ramen_ , actually. How do you even know what I eat?”

Woojin’s grinning now, and although it’s meant to be cocky and teasing, Jihoon thinks Woojin’s smile is blinding (and adorable, especially with a little snaggletooth peeking out in the corner).

Jihoon stops forcing the bag into Woojin’s hands and huffs. “Because I take your trash out for you,” he tells Woojin again. “And you left it open tonight.”

Woojin chuckles. “I must’ve not noticed. Look, thanks, for all this,” he begins as he waves his hands at Jihoon. “But I love instant ramen and 7Eleven’s food, okay, so I’m all good.”

Jihoon takes Woojin’s waving hands as the perfect opportunity to stuff the bag’s strings into the latter’s grasp. He quickly pulls back and smiles triumphantly when Woojin realizes he has no choice but to hold onto the bag (unless he would prefer that it fall and spill all over the floor). “Just because you love it doesn’t mean you have to live off of it, you know,” Jihoon answers. “And besides, this isn’t even anything new I cooked especially for you. These are just leftovers from the small restaurant I work at.”

Jihoon’s fiddling with his fingers again, and he thinks nobody notices his habit, but Woojin does. Jihoon’s too busy keeping himself distracted that he misses the number of times Woojin opens and closes his mouth, thinking of what to say, before settling for, “But you cooked it anyway?”

Jihoon watches Woojin as he rummages through the bag. He smiles as he spots Woojin lick his lips when he’s suddenly hit by the aroma of the _galbi-jjim_ . Jihoon thinks Woojin doesn’t remember the last time he’s had _galbi-jjim_ or even a home-cooked meal that he feels a little sorry but also very pleased with himself.

Jihoon doesn’t know what Woojin’s thinking of or feeling especially with such an unreadable expression. But when he hears Woojin’s deep mumble of a “Thanks, Jihoon”, all Jihoon knows is that at least two people in their apartment building are sleeping contentedly tonight.

  
  


Jihoon steps out of his apartment the next morning with a smile on his face. He’d done good deeds last night, he thinks the world will bless him well today. His smile evidently falters when he sees Woojin walking home, a half-eaten sandwich that’s obviously not homemade in between his teeth. Woojin spots Jihoon too and waves.

“Your body must be worn out from all of the junk you’ve been feeding it that it made us coincidentally run into each other for the very first time since I moved here,” Jihoon jabs and he receives a guffaw in response.

Woojin uses his free hand to take his sandwich out of his mouth and extends his other hand towards Jihoon where a plastic bag hangs by one handle, revealing its contents. “I also have a banana and milk,” he claims, as if Jihoon had already reprimanded him about his food choices so early in the morning. “Healthy living.”

Jihoon crosses his arms. “Your milk’s not low-fat, so it doesn’t count,” He eyes Woojin’s sandwich as he tries to decipher what went on when it was being processed, the frown on his face deepening with each passing second.

“Low-fat milk tastes fake,” Woojin counters. He has finished his sandwich and is looking at Jihoon while he chews, obviously to annoy Jihoon – and it’s working.

“Oh, shit, almost forgot!” Woojin suddenly exclaims. He digs for his house keys in one of the pockets of his jeans and opens the door. Jihoon is left outside as he waits for Woojin to come back, squinting just in case Woojin’s hiding any other instant or processed food.

When Woojin comes out, the same bag Jihoon had given him the night before is in his hands. _So he’s the type to return things after all_ , Jihoon thinks to himself, and he can’t help but smile at the thought. “You finished it?”

Woojin scratches the back of his head. The tips of his ears are turning a familiar shade of pink. “Yeah, w-washed your stuff too. It was p-pretty good. Thanks.”

Jihoon’s smile widens. He grabs the bag from Woojin with one hand and fishes for his keys with the other. “You’re welcome, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Woojin admits as soon as Jihoon steps out of his apartment for the second time that morning. “I don’t remember the last time I had good _galbi-jjim_ , to be honest. The ones at 7Eleven are _fake_.”

Jihoon’s confused again. He isn’t sure if he should be happy Woojin enjoyed his _galbi-jjim_ or sad that his assumption about Woojin not remembering the last time he had the stew is true. “I thought you love 7Eleven’s food?”

“Yeah, but your _galbi-jjim_ is better,” Woojin playfully punches Jihoon’s shoulder as a joke, and Jihoon feels warm. It must be the sun, Jihoon thinks, it has to be.

  
  


The chef is still a little down from his sudden sick spell yesterday so he’s absolutely grateful to have Jihoon working in the kitchen with him. He had found a small bowl of Jihoon’s _galbi-jjim_ reserved for him in the pantry, and he tells Jihoon that it became his source of strength this morning. Jihoon’s shy but touched as he says his thanks.

Mondays aren’t particularly busy for them, contrary to popular belief. The breakfast crowd is a handful, but they come and go as soon as they finish their cups of coffee and plates of pancakes. There aren’t that many people who come over at lunch either and Jihoon thinks it’s because many of them bring their leftovers from Sunday dinners to eat at work or in school. The dinner crowd is the busiest (Jihoon thinks this is the common denominator for all days of the week), no doubt about it – everybody’s drained from another day of working, even if it’s only the first day, so everyone is also a little prickly by dinnertime.

Jihoon’s a little thankful he isn’t waiting on tables anymore. It gets more difficult to fake a smile and feign kindness at cranky customers even as time goes by. The work at the kitchen isn’t all fun and games either, but Jihoon’s enjoying himself more than he did when he was serving tables – even more so when he peeps through the window in the kitchen and sees their customers look like they’re enjoying the food – _his_ food.

The chef calls him over to taste the béchamel sauce they’d made earlier. “Will go well with your superb meat sauce, yeah?”

Jihoon licks his lips in delight. The béchamel was creamy and smooth, and the chef had seasoned it perfectly. “Ah, hyung, you and I made the meat sauce together. But yes, this is great.”

The cook pats his shoulder. “Hey, I only stirred.”

They assemble their plates of lasagna and laugh as the chef shows off his tricks at drizzling bits of parsley on top. Mr. and Mrs. Kim watch them with identical smiles from the side. All three agree that Jihoon is a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen.

They end another night with beads of sweat on their foreheads, wide grins on their lips, and bags of leftovers on the counter. They ask Jihoon to choose which among the variety of food they had left he’d like to take home, and Jihoon finds himself wondering which Woojin would enjoy best. He settles for the containers of meat and béchamel sauces, and ponders if he has noodles and cheese somewhere in his apartment.

 

Jihoon rings Woojin’s doorbell a little over half an hour before midnight, and he mentally pats himself on the back for assembling a lasagna in record time. Woojin opens the door faster than he did the night before, and Jihoon’s taken by surprise, again.

Woojin’s dressed in a white t-shirt at least two sizes bigger than he is and black jeans that almost seem like second skin. He’s drenched in sweat, but Jihoon still gulps down a lump in his throat because _damn, Park Woojin is attractive_. “What’s up?”

Jihoon can’t seem to speak at the moment so he lamely raises the small platter of lasagna he made earlier. Woojin chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Aw, come on Woojin, please?” Jihoon begs. He puts a foot by Woojin’s doorframe just in case Woojin has any plans of shutting the door in his face.

“What are you, _five_?” Woojin teases but there’s no bite to it because he’s laughing at Jihoon’s antics.

“Eighteen, actually, born in the _first_ half of ’99,” Jihoon answers. “And _you_?”

“Eighteen too,” Woojin counters. “But, fine, born in _November_.”

Jihoon wants to cheer in delight because now that their ages have been established (a half a year difference is _still_ meaningful, okay), Woojin has no choice but to do as Jihoon asks him to. The noise that emanates from Jihoon isn’t a playful “Ha!” though, and instead, is a low grumble from his stomach. Jihoon remembers he actually hasn’t eaten dinner himself.

Woojin chuckles a second time, and pulls Jihoon inside. “I wouldn’t be able to finish that all by myself anyway, so you could might as well join me.”

Jihoon’s embarrassed but between the already-closed door to Woojin’s apartment and the hunger he realizes he’s been ignoring, he concedes.

Woojin points Jihoon to the couch, the remote control, and the television set. He then grabs a towel from where it had been haphazardly strewn on one side of the couch and heads for the bathroom. “Wait for me, okay?”

“Why are you so sweaty, anyway?”

Woojin starts to take his shirt off and Jihoon snaps his head back towards the television. He hears Woojin chuckle before answering, “I was dancing, teach a couple of classes, go busking sometimes too.”

As Woojin closes the bathroom door behind him, Jihoon says a little prayer asking for a chance to see Woojin dance one of these days.

 

Jihoon was able to navigate his way around Woojin’s apartment and has the food prepared already by the time Woojin comes out of the shower. His heart beats crazily against his chest when he sees the intensity of Woojin’s smile at the sight of homemade lasagna – complete with a simple table setting.

“Pretty domestic don’t you think, _babe_?” Woojin asks as he takes the seat across Jihoon. Jihoon flings a napkin at Woojin’s face, and is thankful it’s wide enough to cover the younger’s eyes because Jihoon swears he’s an alarming shade of red right now.

Jihoon waits until Woojin takes the first bite – partly out of respect, mostly out of anxiety. Jihoon thinks Woojin knows he’s being watched because he takes his time chewing, and even has the audacity to close his eyes and cock his head to the side.

“Fuck, wow,” Woojin says after he’s swallowed his first bite.

“How is it?” Jihoon inquires as he takes his own spoonful. He’s made lasagna with his mom a number of times before, he knows it’s good but a little boost in his confidence won’t hurt anybody.

“ _Fuck_ . _Wow_ ,” Woojin repeats with a wide grin that Jihoon copies.

Jihoon assumes Woojin is exhausted from a night of dancing, considering the layer of sweat covering his entire body earlier and the way he’s shoveling spoonful after spoonful of the lasagna tonight.

“Why?” Woojin asks after finishing his second plate.

Jihoon looks up from his own plate of lasagna, but immediately regrets it. He’s now staring at Woojin’s deep brown eyes, and he thinks it is inevitable to get lost in them.

“Why do you keep bringing me food?”

Jihoon doesn’t really know what to say, he doesn’t really know why either. Jihoon doesn’t know why he didn’t stop at the _galbi-jjim_ , he doesn’t know why he thinks he has no plans of ever stopping. He nods towards the platter of lasagna in between the two of them. A serving is left, but most of it has already been devoured. “I, uh, always cook a little too much at the restaurant anyway. It’s too much for one, I wouldn’t want any of it to go to waste.”

Jihoon’s eyes disappear into crescents as he smiles. He misses the way Woojin’s own lips fall a little.

“Don’t get too dependent, it’s only been the second day I brought you food anyway.”

Woojin raises an eyebrow at the last portion of the lasagna, and Jihoon nods in response. He can’t help but smile as Woojin scoops even the sauce that have stuck to the crevices of the platter onto his own plate. “That’s the _problem_ , I already feel like you’re _spoiling_ me.”

  
  


Two days turn into seven, and one week turns into eight. Jihoon’s been bringing home leftovers from the restaurant and sharing them with Woojin. Woojin should know by now that Jihoon has no plans of stopping.

“We’re saving your body and the earth with this arrangement, you know,” Jihoon argues as Woojin enters Jihoon’s apartment with a couple of recyclable grocery bags in tow. It’s a Friday today, which means Jihoon has until Saturday off, which also means no leftovers, but Jihoon has still made it a point to cook simple meals for him and Woojin during his days off. They had been doing this at Woojin’s place, initially, but when Jihoon learned that Woojin doesn’t even remember when he purchased the bottle of oil they had been cooking with, Jihoon had decided to move their Friday and Saturday dinners over to his apartment.

They’re having wraps tonight. Jihoon makes Woojin useful by asking him to wash and chop the vegetables. They’re uneven and rugged, but the sight of Woojin concentrating has Jihoon paying the presentation no mind.

Jihoon’s shredding the chicken after it has cooled from the oven when Woojin asks, “Why?” Jihoon tuts at the younger’s lack of manners as he grabs a couple strings of chicken and puts them in his mouth. “Why do you keep cooking for me?”

“Because you live off of instant and processed food,” Jihoon answers simply. “What would your mother say?”

“She’s all the way in Busan, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Woojin laughs. “Well what about you? What would your mother say when she finds out about all the money and time you’ve been spending to feed me?”

Jihoon stiffens for a second but quickly grabs the tortillas from the oven after it dings. “I’ve always wanted to be a chef,” he begins. He still hasn’t elaborated on his dream to anybody else, but a month with Woojin makes Jihoon feel that Woojin is an exception – Woojin is _the_ exception. “I planned on going to culinary school right after I graduated, but things happened.”

Woojin’s silent but his eyes urge Jihoon to continue. The older takes a deep breath before speaking again. “My mom died of an aortic aneurysm. Her largest artery popped, so she bled a lot, and, uh, yeah. We didn’t have a lot to begin with, so our savings went to hospital and funeral bills. Some were left, but not enough for four years of specialized education, so here I am still working and saving up for that."

They each don’t say anything until the food has been laid on the table and they each have a tortilla on their plates. Jihoon grabs a spoonful of onions because his eyes are beginning to water, and he thinks he can use them as an excuse. “My mother was always kind and generous, never cared if she got anything in return for everything she was doing for others. She’d be, uh, proud of me for, uh, doing this.”

Jihoon wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before any of his tears spill. He misses the way Woojin smiles proudly and nods in agreement. “Yeah, she’s most definitely proud.”

  
  


Jihoon leaves his apartment for the grocery a little past noon the next day. Woojin’s dance classes don’t end until three in the afternoon, so Jihoon is in no rush to get their dinner ready. He’s thinking of whether or not he can and should make all three of Woojin’s meals for him when his thoughts are interrupted by the bang of the door next to his own.

It isn’t Woojin he sees (much to Jihoon’s disappointment), and Jihoon thinks it’s a thief and he gets in a fighting position until he sees it’s a boy twice his size with a distressed look on his face.

“Hi, are you _Woojinnie_ ’s neighbor?” the boy asks. When Jihoon nods, the boy tosses him the keys. “Could you lock up for me, I’m kind of in a hurry?”

Jihoon catches Woojin’s keys perfectly and is already locking up. “I’m sorry, but could you tell me what the matter is? Is anything _wrong_? Did anything happen to Woojin?”

The boy runs a hand through his hair, slightly annoyed that Jihoon’s stalling him. “He, uh, collapsed during class today. My friends have already brought him to the hospital, I just had to come and get a few stuff for him.”

Jihoon’s grip on the doorknob tightens until his knuckles turn white. He’s confused, it doesn’t make sense. Woojin had been perfectly fine last night, what could have happened?

The boy must’ve sensed the panic coursing through Jihoon because he suddenly has his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders, slightly shaking Jihoon into his senses. “Hey, hey, I don’t have enough time to worry about you too, okay? Take deep breaths.”

Jihoon nods and does as he’s told.

“Kang Daniel, I teach dance classes with Woojin.”

“Park Jihoon, uh, n-neighbor.” Daniel’s eyebrows cock at the name, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Come with me,” he tells Jihoon who’s quick to follow orders.

 

They take a cab to the hospital Woojin was brought to. Daniel makes a few calls to his friends, and reassures Jihoon that Woojin’s been admitted and is currently under appropriate and professional care.

The last time Jihoon was at the hospital, he lost his mother – the most important person in the world to him then. He doesn’t know how he can manage to be in a similar setting again. Moreover,  he can’t imagine how he can manage to lose the most important person in the world to him _now_.

Park Jihoon chuckles bitterly. He never imagined he’d acknowledge he’s fallen in love with somebody – with Park Woojin – in a cab on the way to the hospital.

“Woojin talks a lot about you, you know,” Daniel tells him. His smile is calming and nice, Jihoon appreciates the effort he’s putting into making Jihoon feel at ease, but nothing can soothe him as much as Park Woojin’s snaggletoothed smile can.

“Really?”

Daniel hums in agreement. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket as the cab rolls into the hospital’s driveway. “He says you’ve been cooking for him and that we should taste your food because it’s the closest thing we’ll get to _heaven_.”

Despite the situation, Jihoon finds the corners of his lips rising to form a small smile.

 

Jihoon doesn’t want to enter Woojin’s hospital room without bringing anything. He isn’t sure if Woojin’s allergic to or the type to be into flowers, so he settles for a cup of instant noodles from the convenience store instead. As a joke, but he thinks it’ll help especially if Woojin collapsed because of exhaustion.

Daniel and Jihoon enter Woojin’s hospital room as quietly and as slowly as they can once they realize that Woojin’s doctor is inside and is explaining what had happened. Jihoon chooses to stand by the door while Daniel walks to the side of Woojin’s bed, where their other friends are.

“So, it’s nothing serious,” the doctor says. “No brain damage, no broken bones, no internal bleeding.” Jihoon releases a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding. “Your labs show an electrolyte imbalance, though. Too much salt in your body, too little water, severe dehydration, collapse.”

Everyone nods at the information, Jihoon is just relieved he isn’t losing anyone today, isn’t losing Park Woojin today.

“Do you eat a lot of salt? Chips? Instant food?” The doctor inquires. Woojin chuckles nervously while Jihoon’s face darkens.

“Yes, he lives off of instant and processed food,” Jihoon speaks up from his corner. He makes his way to the center of the room and tosses the cup of instant ramen onto Woojin’s bed. He ducks shyly when the doctor gives him a questioning look.

“Boyfriend?” The doctor asks.

Woojin and Jihoon choke on air, while Woojin’s friends snicker. “N-neighbor, b-but I’ve been cooking f-for him, since, uh, yeah, I caught him living off of instant ramen and whatever else 7Eleven has to offer.”

The doctor nods. “Hm, that explains it. You’re a chef?”

“Planning to be one.”

The doctor nods again, he’s smiling this time. “I think you’re aware of your boy, uh, _friend_ ’s poor nutritional practices, and it seems like you’ve already been doing something about it, so I’ll leave you all for a while. I have to go order his medications.”

The group thanks the doctor, and it’s Daniel who sees him to the door because Jihoon is busy playing a staring game with Woojin.

“Really, Park Woojin, _really_?” Jihoon demands. His arms are crossed, his brows are furrowed, and he hopes that he looks intimidating enough to Woojin. The glint in the younger’s eyes say otherwise though.

“I never forget my fruit, and _low-fat_ milk,” Woojin answers. “Low-fat! Even if it tastes like nothing!”

Jihoon isn’t in the mood to be joking around now. Not when he felt like his heart stopped as soon as he learned about Woojin’s episode of unconsciousness and hospitalization. It all happened in a blink of an eye, and it reminded Jihoon of something he doesn’t want to remember. Woojin probably sensed Jihoon’s distress, and sighs. He beckons Jihoon to come closer, but Jihoon is as stubborn as he is, apparently. “Look, I haven’t even been eating as much instant ramen as I did before you came into my life, okay. I tried everything on 7Eleven’s menu, even the one of the Family Mart down the street. I even asked for their _healthy_ options.”

Jihoon picks the cup of instant ramen from Woojin’s bed and flings it at the boy in question. He finds himself chuckling a bit when Woojin’s friends laugh at him. “Doesn’t mean it’s _actually_ healthy,” Jihoon replies.

“I know, I know. I know _now_. But what did you expect me to do? Live off of fried egg and kimchi?”

“There are _infinite_ amounts of ways you can cook an egg, Park Woojin.”

Woojin runs a hand through his hair, but he’s laughing. “I only know how to do, like, five. That’s not even enough for every day of the week.”

“You could’ve asked me!” Jihoon exclaims. He’s beside Woojin’s bed now, looking down at Woojin because he just wants Woojin to get his point – to understand that Woojin can stop eating instant and processed food because Jihoon’s right there to cook for him.

“You already provide my dinners, that’s more than enough,” Woojin whispers.

“Uh,” Daniel interrupts. “We’re going to go get something to eat. Do you guys want anything?” Woojin shakes his head. “Nothing instant or processed, I promise!” Daniel doesn’t forget to add when Jihoon gives him a look.

Jihoon waits for the door to close before he asks, “How many times do I have to tell you feeding you isn’t bothering me at all?”

Woojin chuckles bitterly. “How can it not be a bother when you literally spend the money you could be using to pay for your culinary school on me?”

Jihoon is silent for a while because he realizes Woojin’s point. He thinks he has an answer, he just doesn’t know how to put it into words.

“I’m still far off anyway.”

“Yeah, well think of it as I’m driving you even further away from your dream.”

 

Jihoon goes home alone that night, but he doesn’t forget to pass by the grocery to stock up on some ingredients.

 

Woojin is discharged the next morning. It’s a Sunday, but Jihoon called in sick the night before.

 

“Love sick?” Mrs. Kim teased.

Jihoon chuckled. “Maybe, Mrs. Kim.”

 

When Jihoon hears the voices of Woojin and his friends from his living room, he grabs the grocery bags he brought home last night and heads out. Daniel catches sight of Jihoon right before he shuts the door, and immediately lets Jihoon inside. The room is quiet, until Daniel breaks it.

“Uh, Jihoon, this is Seongwu, Samuel, and Hyungseob,” Daniel says as he points to each of his and Woojin’s friends. “We’re, uh, going to go get food.”

Jihoon raises the grocery bags he’s holding. “Don’t bother, I’m cooking.”

Woojin’s friends cheer in absolute glee, until Woojin asks if they can go get drinks because he has none of those stocked at home.

“I’m still healing,” Woojin says as he pushes a hesitant Samuel out the door. When he turns around, Jihoon is already prepping in the kitchen.

Jihoon hears Woojin take a deep breath. “Why?” He turns the knob of the faucet to allow the water to flow. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Woojin is standing a little too closely behind him. “Why do you keep doing _all_ this for _me_?”

Jihoon scrubs the potato in his hands a couple of times before he drops it to the sink. He takes slow and small steps until he’s finally face to face with Woojin. He realizes that if Woojin takes a step further, there would be nowhere for him to go, nowhere for him hide. He takes a deep breath and realizes that now is the perfect time to stop running away. “Your smile is the most beautiful when I do all this for you.”

Jihoon doesn’t know how it happened, all he can comprehend is that he’s now pressed flush between the cold granite of the kitchen counter and the warm body of Park Woojin. Woojin leans in slowly and captures Jihoon’s lips perfectly in his own. The kiss is reminiscent of a big bowl of creamy soup – salty, but a little sweet; hot, but not scalding; silky, smooth, _comforting_ – it makes Jihoon smile against Woojin’s lips and the younger can’t help but chuckle.

“I think you mean,” Woojin begins as he pulls away. He has his hands on Jihoon’s hips and he presses his forehead against the elder’s own. “My smile is the most beautiful when I’m with you. Period.”

Jihoon’s smile widens and the warmth from his lips spreads across his entire body, pushing him onto his tippy toes. He’s now at the perfect height to meet Woojin’s lips with his own. “What I _really_ mean is, _I love you_ , Park Woojin. That’s why.”

Woojin cups Jihoon’s face with both hands. “I love you too, Park Jihoon. Thank you,” He kisses Jihoon, letting his tongue run along Jihoon’s bottom lip until he’s given access.

 

Jihoon would like to admit that he’s a pretty great cook, that he’s made a lot of delicious dishes; that he’s a pretty good eater as well, that he’s eaten a lot of mouthwatering meals. Jihoon would also like to admit that none of them can compare to the taste of Park Woojin’s kisses.

  
  


Jihoon wakes up the following morning to the sound of hushed screaming and the smell of something burning. He’s thankful his and Woojin’s apartments are identical that he easily makes his way from Woojin’s bedroom to the kitchen. Daniel, Samuel, and Hyungseob are by the stove, a plate of blackened blobs (which Jihoon guesses are pancakes – burnt, but pancakes, nonetheless) beside them. Woojin and Seongwu are on the dining table, Woojin’s laptop in front of them.

“What’s going on?” Jihoon asks as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

Everyone’s quiet save for the sound of Woojin’s fingers against his laptop’s keyboard. “Yes!” He exclaims. Seongwu smiles triumphantly from beside him, while Jihoon only raises an eyebrown in question.

“We’ve uh, been up all night looking for culinary programs,” Daniel explains. He smiles widely in hopes it’s cute enough to make Jihoon forget about the fact that lack of sleep is also unhealthy for them, especially Woojin.

“It’s not much, but,” Seongwu continues as Samuel and Hyungseop push Jihoon to where Woojin is seated.

“It’s hardly anything at all, but some _Gordon Ramsay_ is flying over two weeks from now, and he’s holding a week-long cooking class downtown,” Woojin finishes with a wide grin. He turns his laptop to face Jihoon. A webpage that says _Mr. Park Jihoon has successfully enrolled into Mr. Gordon Ramsay’s week-long culinary program_ is displayed.

Jihoon is astonished, he has to sit himself on the chair beside Woojin’s.

“Do you like it?” Woojin asks. He’s biting his lip and it’s making his snaggletooth come out.

“Fuck, yes,” Jihoon grabs Woojin’s chin and plants a soft kiss on his lips. He ignores the gagging sounds coming from their friends. “I love you. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Waaaah, I'm so happy about this work, to be honest, I hope I did not disappoint?
> 
> My Twitter is @[park__lee](https://twitter.com/park__lee) if you guys want to see me talk about my love for the boys of 1999.


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